


Love is an open door (and you're the one to open the gates).

by orphan_account



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra, Frozen (2013)
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Femslash Challenge 2014, Femslash February
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 11:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Korra was always good at being alone.</p><p>In fact, she was so good that she might as well have called herself an expert of the craft. That’d be a nice thing to put on a plaque, wouldn’t it? Korra of the Water Tribes, Expert in Isolation. Though maybe <em>expert</em> didn’t have quite the ring she was going for. Ah, queen! Now <em>queen</em> could inspire images of grace, majesty, beauty, the lot of it. Not that she <em>had</em> any of those things, though she’d punch in the face of anyone who disagreed. But still: Korra of the Water Tribes, Queen of Isolation.</p><p>Anything but the reincarnation of the original fiend who had upset the balance of light and dark.</p><p>Anything but the bodily form of destruction and disrespect to the spirits.</p><p>Anything but <em>avatar</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love is an open door (and you're the one to open the gates).

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlueDagger](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=BlueDagger), [Chiaki Nanami-chan](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Chiaki+Nanami-chan).



> Okay, this has probably been done to death, but whatever. Written for my moirail and my best friend, who both expressed great glee at the thought of a Frozen/Korrasami AU.
> 
> I also had to write it in under one day, so, y'know, it sucks ass. But! Still!
> 
> Unedited/unbeta'd/etc. Enjoy at your own risk and thank you for reading.

Korra was always good at being alone.

In fact, she was so good that she might as well have called herself an expert of the craft. That’d be a nice thing to put on a plaque, wouldn’t it? Korra of the Water Tribes, Expert in Isolation. Though maybe _expert_ didn’t have quite the ring she was going for. Ah, queen! Now _queen_ could inspire images of grace, majesty, beauty, the lot of it. Not that she _had_ any of those things, though she’d punch in the face of anyone who disagreed. But still: Korra of the Water Tribes, Queen of Isolation.

Anything but the reincarnation of the original fiend who had upset the balance of light and dark.

Anything but the bodily form of destruction and disrespect to the spirits.

Anything but _avatar_.

 

“Wha’cha workin’ to _daaay_?”

Asami lifted the goggles to perch them in her tied-back hair, revealing the centimetre-thick line of her face _not_ covered in grime and dust. Her cats’ eye-green gaze should be outlawed _immediately_ , Korra decided, before the Water Tribes lose their princess to an ill-timed heart attack. As she carefully began to put out the flames—silently Korra made a motion of the hand, and the fires died much more rapidly than physically possible—Asami removed the thick protective gloves hiding soft fingers and undid the band holding her luxurious hair in place. Korra almost wanted to pin Asami’s arms, to drink in the sight of her best friend with dirt on her nose and her hair pulled back but for the singular lock cascading so tantalisingly from her hairclip. “Nothing much,” Asami said at last. Korra blinked: What had they been talking about again? Oh, right. “Just looking at the new Earth Kingdom designs. They’re _crazy_ down there. I heard that they’ve managed to harness something called lightning to produce energy, like with this.”

She indicated the brown-black gauntlet she had been taking apart. Switching the dial on the centre to as far right as she could, she gently touched the leathery fingertips to Korra’s arm. Korra jolted. “Damn, ‘Sami! What was that?”

“They call it _electricity_.” Asami laughed. Korra rubbed her still-twinging arm.

“Hey, Asami, do you ever miss it?”

The mirth died along with the final vestiges of the fire. Asami’s gaze slipped to somewhere beneath the floor. Korra wondered if someday she would learn to approach the most important people in her life—the _only_ important people in her life—with mildly more tact. Just enough tact to perhaps _not_ rip out Asami’s heart on a daily basis. “I like it here. I like it here with _you_ , Korra.” Asami was playing with that strand of hair again. Coiling and uncoiling the lock from around her index finger. For the years that Korra had known her, she’d memorised Asami’s habits, or at least the more obvious ones. And _that_ was the one Asami used when equivocating to Korra’s parents. “Yes, sometimes I miss my father, but it’s okay. I don’t mind.”

Korra scanned the workroom. Stocked with every tool and supply Asami could name, filled with every book Asami could want, flourishing with everything and anything Asami could need, the workroom had become the prisoner of the treaty’s treasure trove. “Could I get you anythin’ else? Mom and Dad’ll get me anything I ask, y’know.” Though she spoke nonchalantly, she was certain Asami could hear the imploring, the pleading, the _begging_ in her voice: _Be happy. Please._

“I’m fine, Korra. I promise.” She bit her lip. Korra was no Maester Tenzin when it came to judge of character, yet even so, she knew: Asami might have been many things, but _fine_ was not one of them. “My objective is to bring peace between the Water Tribes and the United Republic. As long as I’m here, and safe, the war is over. I’m happy to serve my people.” Korra’s heart sloshed to somewhere between her ribs or possibly beneath her feet. Lunging forward with a startling agility, Asami gripped her hands tightly. Her nails dug into Korra’s wrists. “And I _like_ it here with you. Don’t worry. I’m fine. I’m _fine_.” She stared directly into Korra’s face with such intensity that the latter could see the thin red veins in the whites of her eyes. Her pupils shrunk to tiny pinpoints of darkness, twin holes in the fabric of the night sky. Her irises almost pulsating with a vibrant green that existed nowhere else on the ice.

Slowly, a sheepish grin curved Korra’s mouth. “O-okay. Hey, ‘Sami?”

“What?”

“Wanna go penguin sledding?”

The girl studied Korra for another snapshot of silence. Then she let her wrists go, leaving crimsonish marks on the otherwise dark skin. “Sure,” Asami said, quietly. “Let’s go penguin sledding.”

 

“Oh spirits, oh _spirits_ , oh spirits please be okay, please be okay, Asami, Asami, _please_.”

Naga licked Asami’s face. The girl stirred briefly, her eyelids fluttering. Burns criss-crossed her bare face and chest. Ashen scraps of smouldering cloth remained seemingly stuck to her skin.

Overhead the fireworks of the New Year blossomed colours against the new-moon sky. The Spirit Bridge extended across the stars in glowing tendrils of green, blue, tyrian, white, gold. Below the fireworks of her curse blossomed grey-red burn against her best friend’s pale flesh. And perhaps another Spirit Bridge extended between her and the heavens. Beckoning her to the Celestial Lights.

“It was a joke. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, please, Asami, wake up. Wake _up_. They’re expecting me—us—at the ceremony—you can’t just— _Asami_ —”

She’d been trying to warm them up. It was Asami’s fault, really! _She_ had hatched the plan to sneak out for the New Year to watch the fireworks from the sentry post, the highest point in the Imperial Palace. Instead of at ground level, where the wheeling patterns lost their fire amid the flurries of snow. But even against Naga’s toasty pelt Asami had shivered with the chill that had seeped into her bones. The cold had never bothered Korra anyway. And the fireworks, koi fish and dragons and badgermoles and sky bison dancing below the shimmering ribbon of the Spirit Bridge. But when Asami had removed her gloves to exhale heat into her palms, her fingers had almost _glowed_ a luminous blue, her veins visible under her translucent skin. Green fading to a violent violet at the edges, like a bruise.

Korra _knew_ how to warm herself up. A breath of fire, rubbed into her hands, always did the trick. And yet—

_“Don’t tell anyone, okay?” she whispered. Asami, eyes wide and pupils dilated, nodded. And Korra expired a tongue of flame. A tongue that—as she watched Asami—somehow bloomed into a pure lotus of flame. Beautiful, in one instant. Fatal, in the next._

Korra strapped the girl to Naga’s saddle before throwing herself on the polar bear dog’s back. Her parents would kill her.

On some level, she hoped they damn well _tried_.

 

“Korra, your mother and I _love_ you. Which is why we’re doing this, to protect you, sweetie. You’ve been blessed with great powers. But you are no spirit; you cannot control them. A true queen must rule her throne in isolation either way. Commoners have _friends_. As the Queen of the Water Tribes, you are so much more than that.

“Conceal it, Korra. _Don’t_ feel it. Your people need a queen, Korra. Not a demon.”

 

They took everything. The meetings with the United Republic stretched over months, the tension so thick not even Naga could have clawed it apart. The prisoner of the treaty was still alive, was in stable condition, was improving day by day. In return for not restarting the war, the King and Queen of the Water Tribe agreed to shut their daughter away until she could mature enough not to play with fire. The official reason involved the stables burning. The princess’s polar bear dog had sadly died in the inferno, the King and Queen indicated while Naga was transported into the snowfields and left to fend for herself, so their daughter would have little need to venture outside.

 _No_ need, in fact.

 

The tempest apparated from nowhere. Moments after the King and Queen’s departure from the Royal Harbour, the clear blue sky swirled in wicked grey. As if the heavens had ripped themselves apart to pour rain, wind, and lightning upon the royal ship, the HMS _Dusk Treader_. It sank in within swimming distance of the harbour while the onlookers stared, mouths agape, as sparks of white-hot plasma cleaved the wood asunder and the roiling waves drowned those who attempted the odyssey to the shore.

The instant the ship vanished beneath the frothing surface of the Beihai, the northern sea, the maelstrom calmed. Vanished again quickly as it had arrived. The cool azure waters reflected the peaceful clouds of the clear-again heavens.

The wailing of the onlookers took significantly longer to quiet.

The King and Queen were en route to a wedding. Had been en route to a wedding. That of the Prince of the Earth Kingdom and the Princet of the Fire Nation. The King and Queen had intended to find the Princess of the Water Tribes a match, a betrothed, a selected partner to share their daughter’s isolation.

To share their daughter’s _ice_ -olation.

 

Asami knocked on the foreboding door emblazoned with the sigils of the Water Tribes. The great yin-yang moon straddling the seam. The twin polar bear dogs painted on either side. The leaping koi fish carved around the edges. “Korra? I’m sorry, Korra. I heard about your parents. Korra?”

No response. Never had been a response.

Maybe Korra now considered Asami ugly for the burn scars over her torso. Maybe Korra didn’t want to see Asami ever again. Maybe Korra had . . . found someone else . . .

Asami thudded her head against the door. “Korra, please, I just want to talk to you. You don’t even have to look at me if you don’t want to. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Silence, but for the footsteps behind her. His river-blue sleeves pooling on the floor, the servant bowed. “Miss Sato?” Steadily Asami lifted herself from the ground, knees unfolding, dark hair covering the more badly burnt side of her face. The servant’s visage held no emotion; his tone spoke disdain, spoke condescension, spoke disgust. “Her Imperial Majesty has named you the heir apparent to the Water Tribes.” His voice hardened to a spear of hoarfrost. “Despite there not being a drop of Water Tribe blood in your body. This one would recommend that Princess Sato tread carefully. There are those who would wish her harm, and those who would seek her hand in marriage, as Her Imperial Majesty has declined all suitors since her isolation.”

Deliberately Asami inclined her head. “Thank you.”

The servant frowned, bowed once more at the waist, and left Asami alone on the unforgiving, unyielding ground.

Perhaps, if Korra had named her heir apparent, Korra intended for her to become the face of the Water Tribes. No longer a prisoner of the treaty, but an heir to the throne, an heir who must do all that she could to better her kingdom.

Since her new position invalidated the treaty, giving her power the original treaty had denied her, the Water Tribes and the United Republic would require a new vehicle of peace between them.

Marriage. Of course. Korra, _her_ Korra, was brilliant.

“Anything for you, Korra,” she murmured into the shut door. Praying that her words could slip under the door and reach Korra on the other side of the frozen divide. “ _Anything_ for you.”

 

Korra gripped the silver objects for several seconds; when she returned them to the pillow, the tips of the metal had melted and bent, crystalline frost swathing the bases. She swallowed painfully around the knot at her throat.

“And thus ends the coronation for the people of the Korra Nation,” Priestess Yue concluded with a flourish, “as well as the Queen’s isolation!”

At the subsequent celebration delegates of every major nation and minor province alike swarmed to congratulate her. Though they would be safe contacting the aegis of her furred gloves, she offered them low bows and traditional hand gestures instead. They smiled, occasionally laughing at the quaint backwaters nature of the Water Tribes. Never to her face, of course. Yet she heard the amusement in the laugh lines around their eyes and at the quirks of their mouths. Gritting her teeth, Korra denied her curse the chance to screw everything up over again.

She had already seen the flames of hell once. Never again.

The make-up caked on her cheeks itched. The luminescent powders on her eyelids threatened to bring tears to her stinging eyes, which would in turn ruin the already partially smeared squid ink outline. With her hair dyed white and tugged up into a series of fanciful knots that bit at her scalp, Korra had transformed into some sort of ghostly moon spirit—a breath-takingly gorgeous one, her maids had assured her, although the blank-eyed poltergeist in the mirror had looked otherwise—with which the Water Tribes could wow their guests, she supposed.

Then she noticed the _true_ moon spirit. Or, at least, a woman that could have replaced the moon in the sky entirely and made the night that much more beautiful. Violet eyeshadow highlighted the vibrant emerald ringing the spirit’s pupils; hints of Fire Nation rouge at the cheeks sharpened her cheekbones; the scarlet paint on her lips, Korra thought, could single-handedly defeat the entire Water Tribe army. Asami. Whom she hadn’t seen in four long years. She wore a tight-fitting purple dress slit to the thigh. It was the most daring thing Korra had ever seen, emphasising the curve of Asami’s breasts and hips. And her shapely rear, when she turned. The high collar brushing against her lower jaw _begged_ for hidden love bites marking her pale skin, skin that would keep the sensual bruises for days or weeks. When had Asami’s chest blossomed so strikingly? When had her legs grown so long and slender? When had—when had the burn scars disappeared?

She moved away from the drinks table, towards the crowd, and a young man followed her. A handsome face, with the amber eyes of the Fire Nation royalty and spiky hair gelled so ridiculously he could not possibly be the spawn of the Fire Lord, who would have eaten him alive to see the royal blood making a fool of himself. As surreptitiously as possible Korra ducked through the crowd, pushing when necessary and sending at least one ambassador flying, until she neared Asami and the young man. Concealing herself behind a potted plant and mentally praising herself for the foolproof disguise, she listened:

“But of course, Mako. It would be my pleasure.” Korra’s eyebrows knitted together. Asami’s voice had grown cold over the past four years. Frigid. A blizzard in a teacup. “As soon as I find—Korra? Your Imperial Majesty?”

Clearing her throat, Korra emerged from behind the plant and brushed a flower petal from her hair. “Asami, you’re beautiful—” She heard the words a second after she released them. “—dress is really something, huh?” Fantastic last minute save there. Clearly she deserved all of the awards. Except that the faint light in Asami’s irises had gone out. With that Korra’s tentative grin died. Suddenly impaling herself on a fork and wandering out into the icestorm to die seemed like the _perfect_ response to this turn of events.

Asami still hated her. For burning her. For ruining her.

For _everything_.

“Your Imperial Majesty!” interrupted the young man in the purple attire of the United Republic, and Korra had to bit her tongue to keep from incinerating his moronic face. “Queen Korra, I am Prince Mako of Republic City, pleased to make your acquaintance. And the acquaintance of the fine Princess Asami.” He kissed Asami’s hand; she giggled. Flirtatiously. As though she were of the tittering handmaids who chirruped like pudgy sparrow rabbits and fanned themselves with silk, lowering their eyelids to peer sultrily at ugly aristocrat boys.

“I wished to ask your permission to marry him,” Asami twittered. The blankness of her eyes terrified Korra. The rolling pupils, akin to black beads rattling around a china dish. The dulled irises, like the decaying leaves of autumn and coming winter. “To solidify the peace between the United Republic and the Water Tribes, before they hear news of the broken treaty.”

“Of course. To solidify the peace,” the prince echoed. But his gaze rested on Asami’s breasts, on her legs, on her ass, devouring her already, the voracious dragon swallowing the koi fish whole. “We’ll be married by the morrow, my lovely princess. Queen Korra, I would do _anything_ for her hand in marriage. Hell, I’ll tattoo your sigil on my chest if that’s what you want! My undying loyalty and all.”

Korra felt rather than saw the bolts of ice and flame form in her fists.

She saw rather than felt the blizzard kiss her skin as she fled her kingdom, fled her love, fled her life.

 

“C’mon, Naga. Can’t you feel Pabu shivering? Do you really want the li’l furball to freeze his li’l fuzzy butt off?” One hand on the polar bear dog’s shoulder and the other scritching Pabu behind the ear, Bolin tramped onwards through the snow. The blocks of ice on the sled crackled as they paced through the icestorm. “Pretty cold for this time of year, huh? Lookit, there’s the shop’n spa. Always give me the best prices, too. We’re almost there, Naga. C’mon!”

The polar bear dog barked. Wagged her tail. Lumbered forward. Bolin shouldered the door. “Heyo, Zhu Li! You seen Varrick around?”

Zhu Li wiped the lens of her glasses. “No, but I would be happy to purchase your ice.” She glanced pointedly at the flurries rushing in through the open door. “Even considering the abundance of ice at the moment.”

“Mmhm, but this here’s high _quality_ ice!” He lifted the quivering fire ferret from his pocket and placed him on the counter. Pabu squeaked. “Fire ferret approved and all!”

“I’m sure.” Adjusting her spectacles on the bridge of her nose, Zhu Li started to count out the yuans when Naga abruptly whipped around. The sled thudded, overturned, to the ground. Her harness snapped. Cubes of ice spilled over the floor.

“Naga!” Bolin yelped, trying to grab her reins. “Naga, what are you— _whoa_!”

The polar bear dog was licking the face of a young woman dressed in a thick blue coat. Shakily the woman sat up, embracing Naga’s muzzle. Bolin had never seen such a radiant smile, like someone had just given her the world and then some. It took him a moment to notice the burn scars darkening, reddening her skin. Trails of pain and agony across her face. “Naga, Naga, it’s okay! I missed you too! Wait—if you’re here—then where’s—?” Her smile melted as her gaze focused on Bolin, who could not have felt any shorter had she sliced his legs out from under him. Her tone: ice. Her expression: frostbite. “Where’s Korra?”

“Uh, I’ve got no idea who that is. Sounds like a pretty cool guy though. Korra. Sweet name.” He dumped a couple of ice cubes on the counter, clapped his hands to sweep the icicles off, and raised an eyebrow. “How do you know Naga anyway? Naggie, you been sneakin’ off when I haven’t been looking?”

The woman’s pupils flicked between Bolin and Naga and back again. “How long did you meet her?”

“Huh? Oh, Naga here? I found her a puppy, ‘bout four years ago. She’s been with me ever since.” Bolin scratched the polar bear dog behind the ear. Her wagging tail thumped, her panting tongue hanging happily from her mouth. “Her collar read _Naga_ , so I figured someone’d abandoned her, and I—oi, what are you doing?”

The woman had swung a leg over Naga’s neck. Straddling the polar bear dog’s neck, gripping the reins so tightly, she looked _born_ of ice and sky. “I’m going to borrow her for a few days. Once this freak blizzard blows over, come to the Imperial Palace and ask for an audience with Princess Sato. I’ll give her back. Come on, Naga. You’ve got to help me find Korra.”

Naga whined, ears lifting, and nosed Bolin’s chest with her muzzle, dark and moist. “I think she’s wantin’ me to come with,” he observed, clambering on behind the woman. “Zhu Li, just put it on my tab, would’ja?”

Zhu Li sighed. “You should be happy that Varrick likes you, Mr Iwamatsu.”

“Aw, c’mon! You like me too, don’cha, Zhu Li? How could you _not_ trust this face, hmm?” With a grin, Bolin slapped Naga on the flank. She reared. Pabu cowered back in his pocket, fluffing his fur against the chill. “So, uh, where’re we goin’ anyway? And what’s your name?”

“I’m Asami.” Her knuckles whitened on the reins. “And we’re going to save my girlfriend.”

 

The palace of ice. Korra, alone, trapped within a fortress of solitude. Glaring at her hands.

She breathed inwards: air. Outwards: fire. The earth and the sea called her name. Cursed.

Korra was always good at being alone.

In fact, she was so good that she might as well have called herself an expert of the craft. That’d be a nice thing to put on a plaque, wouldn’t it? Korra of the Water Tribes, Expert in Isolation. Though maybe _expert_ didn’t have quite the ring she was going for. Ah, queen! Now _queen_ could inspire images of grace, majesty, beauty, the lot of it. Not that she _had_ any of those things, though she’d punch in the face of anyone who disagreed. But still: Korra of the Water Tribes, Queen of Isolation.

Anything but the reincarnation of the original fiend who had upset the balance of light and dark.

Anything but the bodily form of destruction and disrespect to the spirits.

Anything but _avatar_.

 

“Oh spirits, oh _spirits_ , oh spirits please be okay, please be okay, Asami, Asami, _please_.”

Not fire, this time, nor ice, but stone. A crystal she had never seen before, did not realise she knew how to control. Green, like her eyes. Spreading over her body, weakening her, leeching her, swallowing her up bit by bit.

Korra carried her to Naga’s back—and she had found Naga again, had found one piece of her heart even as she lost another—and ignored the boy waiting on the saddle. She rode through the blizzard that parted before her, rode hard, rode as though her life depended on the voyage—and it did. _Her_ life did, and Korra’s life depended on _her_.

When they arrived at the gates, Korra cradled a body half-flesh, half-stone. “Please, guards, take her to a healer imm—”

“The avatar!” a guard shrieked. “ _She’s the avatar!_ ”

The guards bound her in chains while she screamed out an inferno. The boy in the saddle crumpled amid cries of _conspirator_. They muzzled Naga.

 _They muzzled Naga_.

Icicles rained from the stormclouds overhead. The cobblestones sharpened into stakes. Blood slicked the courtyard. Then a heavy club cracked the back of her skull, and the avatar’s rampage came to an abrupt end.

Stars. Pain. Darkness.

Mako stood over her fallen form. Crouching down, he gently gathered Asami in his arms. “Take the avatar away,” he barked, “as well as the demon dog. My br—you can leave the boy. I must attend to my fiancée.”

The guards bustled, bowing to his wishes. He had foretold that within their queen had hidden the deadly powers of the avatar. They would serve him, the saviour of their Princess Asami, the future King of the Water Tribes.

 

Asami awoke tied to a chair. Bound. Gagged. In the chair across from her sat Mako, the Prince of the United Republic, his jaw clenched. She yelled into the gag; he slapped her face violently enough for her cheek to sting. She inhaled the stench of sweaty fabric. “If I take this off, you must be quiet. Do you understand?” When she bobbed her head he carefully removed the gag.

“What’s going on?” she hissed. “Who are you really, and how did you know about Korra?”

Mako shook his head. “I didn’t want to cause any trouble, Miss Sato, but I knew I would only have one shot. They had an opening for a kitchen boy. It didn’t take me long to discover everything about the palace that way.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You served here? For how long? I thought I knew all of the servants.”

“Ah, not the ones that served the future queen directly.” He smirked. “Four years, Miss Sato.”

Her limbs, already leaden from the crystal growth, went entirely numb. “Four years. And for what? A chance to be another prince for the Water Tribes?”

“There are many heirs to the United Republic. This way, I retain some power, and _you_ gain control over an entire kingdom.”

“The entire . . .” She inhaled suddenly; against the heaviness of the crystals, she could barely expand her lungs. “No. No, you can’t—you can’t _do_ that, you selfish piece of shit—”

Mako rested a hand on her shoulder. “Until she is dead, the curse will not lift. First, she must die; then, you must be kissed by your true love.” Asami lunged. Even with the binds and the crystal restricting her, she sank her teeth into Mako’s arm. Jerking away, he rubbed at the wound. “You’ll regret that, Princess.”

“ _You’ll_ regret that,” she whispered hotly under her breath, her throat burning, her voice hoarse and croaked. “If you kill Korra, then the curse will _never_ lift. Because with her will die my true love.”

Mako sighed. “The true love must love you back, Miss Sato.” He brushed imaginary dust from his trousers as he stood. “Besides, I meant romantic love, not platonic, or sisterly.”

Asami spat at his boots. “So did I.”

 

When Korra awoke she had lost herself. Later the onlookers would say that her eyes glowed silver, the same silver of the sigil of the Water Tribes. That she ripped through the steel prison like the metal were paper. That a gale spun itself about her, a sphere of the elements. Earth, fire, air, water.

That the boy had been seen sneaking off after the polar bear dog. That Prince Mako caught her in the blizzard. That he dodged her attacks one by one, that he neared her with the hellfire of a demon in his eyes, he brought a flaming sword upon her even while she floated. That a polar bear dog tackled him into the snow. That the boy and the woman on the polar bear dog leaped off, one after the other. That the boy carried the woman, swathed in shimmering green. That the woman cried out to the avatar.

“Korra,” said the woman barely able to move, the woman with crystallised tears streaking trails down her cheeks, the woman who had not seen her Korra in years but who still remembered the exact warmth of her embrace, “ _I love you_.”

That the glow in the avatar’s eyes faded. That she slowly sank to the ground. That she crawled forward through the sullied snowfall. That she lifted the woman’s head, touching every part of the woman’s body she could reach, face, hands, collarbones, cheeks, lips. That the instant of the kiss, the icestorm broke as the wave upon the shore. That the stormclouds parted, and golden light from the almost forgotten sun streamed over the field of melting ice.

That the boy slapped Prince Mako’s face. “That’s for dumpin’ me in the snow four years ago, bro.” Another slap. “That’s for tellin’ me you’d come find me as soon as you became a prince or whatever.” A punch to the gut. “That’s for not lyin’. But for doin’ it in the _worst_ way possible. You wanted to kill the _avatar_? Are you stupid? Monkeyfeathers, bro, you _are_ a brother betrayer.”

That the woman and the avatar, that the Princess and the Queen, that Asami Sato and Korra had cried into one another’s shoulders while the crystals ebbed and fell away from Asami’s flesh. That they kissed again, and again. That their kisses tasted of sugary joy and salty grief wrapped up together, as though neither could be separated from the other, as though they had been born to be one, as though they completed one another: the avatar breathed life into her consort, and so her consort brought peace to the avatar.

That the avatar had died and been reborn over again, no longer as a harbinger of doom, but as a master of the elements.

That Prince Mako would be sent back to his home in the United Republic; that the United Republic, apologising for his behaviour, would agree to a new treaty; that the boy Bolin would become the new stablemaster for the new era.

That the new Queens of the Water Tribes would be married at dawn.

 

“I thought you hated me,” said Korra, propping herself up on an elbow. Through the tilted blinds on the window, bands of moonlight patterned stripes over Asami’s paler form, over her darker own. Upon the mattress, curved over one another like this, they were a yin and yang. Balancing on another out. “For burning you.”

Asami laughed, burying her face between Korra’s breasts, less for comfort and more to revel in the sheer glory of being able to do so, in the sheer glory of Korra belonging to _her_ , in the sheer glory of contact between them, skin to skin, flesh to flesh, heart to heart. “I thought _you_ hated _me_. That you thought my burns made me ugly.”

Korra traced the contours of the scar that extended over Asami’s left shoulder to the base of her shoulder blade. “That’s stupid, ‘Sami. You’re so much more beautiful with the scars than with all of that make-up crap. N-not that I think that you should have had the scars at all.” She stroked the sensitive skin, memorised the terrain of bumps and ridges. “But you’re perfect _for_ all of your imperfections. Okay, wait, that didn’t really make any sense. What I’m trying to say, I think, is . . .” Laying her chin onto Asami’s shoulder, she exhaled. From the foot of the royal bed, Naga raised her head and whimpered. “. . . is that maybe I’m not so good with the words.”

“But you _are_ so good with me. Don’t worry; I understand what you meant.” Craning her neck, Asami cradled Korra’s jaw in the palm of her hand, drawing the avatar in for a kiss. A nip on the bottom lip. A wet flutter of the tongue sliding into Korra’s mouth, sending a hot streak through her as though pierced by an arrow from the patron spirit of love. “I love you, Korra. Four years . . . I feel like we’ll never be able to catch up.”

Korra shrugged. Smiled into the kiss. “I dunno, ‘Sami. We’ve got the rest of our lives, together.” She laughed as Asami’s tongue tickled the roof of her mouth, squeezed her wife’s shoulders tightly as if ensuring that she were real. And she was. No more isolation. Never again. “And I love you too. As though you _ever_ doubted that.”

No, no more isolation.

Korra was never good at being alone.

In fact, she was so bad that she might as well have called herself an expert of being in love. That’d be a nice thing to put on a plaque, wouldn’t it? Korra of the Water Tribes, Expert in Marrying Asami. Though maybe _expert_ didn’t have quite the ring she was going for. Ah, queen! Now _queen_ could inspire images of grace, majesty, beauty, the lot of it. Not that she _had_ any of those things, though she’d punch in the face of anyone who disagreed, because Asami surely did. But still: Korra of the Water Tribes, Queen of Being Asami’s Devoted Wife.

As well as the reincarnation of the original blessing who had righted the balance of light and dark.

As well as the bodily form of creation and respect to the spirits.

As well as the _avatar_.

Queen Korra of the Water Tribes. Queen _Avatar_ Korra.

Now _that_ had a certain ring to it. Maybe even the same ring on the fourth finger of her left hand.


End file.
